


all this and heaven too

by noturno



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Hades (Video Game 2018), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Ten uses she/her pronouns here!, Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noturno/pseuds/noturno
Summary: "You're not having second thoughts about your escape attempts, are you?""And if I am?" Jeno asks, though offering him a shy smile. It is not always that he finds him here — it is not always that he finds Mark at all. It’s a crime that he is not around Jeno most of the time. “Would you not be happy if I stayed, dear?”(Alternatively: five times that could prove that Death has a heart, or perhaps just a soft spot for one certain runaway prince.)
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Mark Lee
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63





	all this and heaven too

**Author's Note:**

> i have been playing hades like a madman, so it's only natural that this would happen. there are many references to the game, but i don't believe you necessarily need to know it in order to understand the fic ─ though, if you enjoy greek mythology, i highly recommend playing!
> 
> this is dedicated to aris, for our jenzag and thanmark moments <3
> 
> rated M for mentions of violence/death/blood (just canon thingz) + exactly one scene that would be more spicé of sorts. that or maybe i am a dork and jeno is just very in love, who knows.
> 
> title is from florence's song. listen to it!! i think it summarizes the fic very well.
> 
> for outfit references, check out [zagreus](https://hades.gamepedia.com/File:Zagreus.png) and [thanatos](https://hades.gamepedia.com/File:Thanatos.png). here is [hypnos](https://hades.gamepedia.com/File:Hypnos_newest.png) as well for obvious jaeminisms

_We have not touched the stars,_

_nor are we forgiven, which brings us back_

_to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes,_

_not from the absence of violence, but despite_

_the abundance of it._

_The lawn drowned, the sky on fire,_

_the gold light falling backward through the glass_

_of every room. I'll give you my heart to make a place_

_for it to happen, evidence of a love_

_that transcends hunger._

— SIKEN, Richard. Snow and Dirty Rain

_i._

“My, my, what a sight for sore eyes!” exclaims the figure at the end of the hall. “The next time you’re run over by enchanted chariots, how about you just step to the side, hm?”

Walking right past a bunch of shades while they gossip, Jeno doesn’t mind the trail of blood he leaves behind himself, not today — he’s far too tired from getting all the way up to Elysium only to take a breather for a second and have a bunch of chariots running over him. He motions dismissively to Jaemin, who giggles as he writes down on his clipboard. “Three points for Nemean Chariots, and for my beloved Prince of Hell… None at all!” He singsongs. “Oh, come on, Jeno. Crack a smile for me — the mortals always say that third time's the charm! What’s the worst that can happen? You dying again? Nothing you’ve never done before, silly!”

“I’m always flattered by your enthusiasm,” he manages to blurt out, stopping by the chthonic god’s side just to throw a small bottle of nectar in his direction. Jaemin catches it without difficulty, immediately opening the vessel and downing it before Jeno’s father notices.

“Thank you, thank you,” Jaemin bats his eyelashes sleepily, his floating form almost retreating to a horizontal position before he stops himself. “Nectar always makes me sleepy, you do this on purpose, don’t you? Just to see your father get mad at me!”

Jeno spares a look to the man sitting at the end of the hall, partially hidden by the awful lot of paperwork on his desk. “You overestimate my father's ability to get mad at you for no particular reason, Hypnos,” he comments. “Though I can assure you it is most likely he lashes out on me.”

Although his eyes are open, Jeno is sure that the other has fallen asleep midtalk — when does he not? And so, the Prince of Hell steps away from the ever growing queue of shades that Jaemin will have to deal with sooner or later.

Truth be told, he is in no mood to do his silly little tasks — this escape attempt was particularly tiring, as none of the blessings offered to him by the Olympians was of much use; may the Styx forbid that they ever hear him speaking of this, but does Jeno wish for Zeus’ aid more often, it was so useful to him in the past few runs. But it is rare that he finds himself in the possession of a blessing for the Lord ruler of the skies. Stretching his arms above his head, Jeno walks past his father’s desk without giving him the time of day and strolls down the hallway to his chambers, but even the most acid of his moods doesn’t keep him from muttering a hello to Dusa before she promptly floats away from him, stuttering under her breath.

He pushes open the heavy doors to his chambers, gaze immediately falling upon the figure resting on the recliner by the opposite wall. Jeno speaks up: “Didn’t see you out there all morning. Taking the day off, by all means?”

Mark cracks one eye open, arms crossed behind his head and his enormous scythe resting by the wall. “Just because you didn’t see me, doesn’t mean I wasn’t working. I’ll remind you I am not your babysitter, despite Nyx constantly asking me to keep an eye out for you."

“Oh, aren’t you?” Jeno muses as he begins stripping off his bloody clothes. “And here I was believing that you were the one to bring me to the Styx every time I fell down in battle. That must be another guy with a scythe.”

Unamused, Mark watches as he steps into the pool by the corner of the room. It isn’t until Jeno has started to wash the blood off his skin that he speaks up. “If it weren’t for me, your soul would be wandering through Asphodel all day, tormented by all the ones you bring down. And you can’t even say thank you for bringing you _home_.”

Jeno shrugs, watching as the water runs red as he scrubs his arms clean. He’s grown used to the blood now, but sometimes it still uneases him, to see himself covered in all that red — he cups his hands together and brings water to his face. When he opens his eyes, the god of Death isn’t by the recliner anymore, but sitting on the edge of the pool.

“Why, thank you for your kindness,” Jeno tells him when he feels fingers working through his hair, slicking the strands back. “I will miss you when I get to the surface, did you know that?”

Mark doesn’t reply, and Jeno doesn’t blame him for it. He’s still very upset that Jeno didn’t tell him of his plan to leave the Underworld until they met in a chamber in Elysium for the first time — Jeno doubts he will ever be able to forget the look on Mark’s face that day. But they’re getting somewhere now; Mark does not approve of his big dreams, but he doesn’t do anything to stop him, much to Jeno’s father’s dismay.

Death is always gentle, of course, Jeno doubts that he’d ever treat him like Renjun does, for example. Jeno is still sore from the last time that the Fury had sent him straight to the Styx, ever so loyal to Lord Doyoung, Master of the House and Jeno’s workaholic father. No, Death is gentler than anyone around here, as one would realize if they were to see the way Mark pours oil fragrances on the water, rubs Jeno’s back clean, disentangles his hair from all the dried blood and dirt and whatnot.

Of course, none of this is for anyone’s eyes but Jeno’s. Were he to tell anyone, nobody would believe him, and Mark sure as hell wouldn’t bother confirming. If Jeno caught him in a bad mood, he’d even threaten him with his scythe — just the usual for them.

“No plans of going back there today?” Mark asks once they’re done, Jeno wrapped in a clean toga and checking the prophecies on his desk. He shrugs. “That vermin is bothering you again, is that it?”

“No, I didn’t even get to the Temple of Styx today,” Jeno responds in a quiet tone. He rests a chin on his hand, checking items off the list of blessings from the god of War he is yet to receive. He’s just _so_ close.

“You don't sound very excited. Usually, you are obnoxiously ready to get back on your feet."

He shrugs again. This time, Mark lets out a long sigh, and one of his hands squeezes Jeno’s shoulder in what seems to be a recomforting gesture. He recoils a little — the wretched souls did go hard on him today.

“You’re hurting,” Mark whispers, almost inaudible as he retrieves the hand. "How come?"

“Bad days happen. You know me, I’ll heal in no time.”

The other is not convinced — he nudges at the sides of Jeno's shoulders, as if to make him get up, and as Jeno looks up at him, he says: "Zagreus, come on."

It is not always that the chthonic gods refer to each other by their primordial names; unless it is a matter of respect and hierarchy, it hasn’t been like that for a really long time. Jeno can't remember the last time he heard that name slip from Mark's lips, which is maybe why he finds himself getting up from his desk, guided by the very same hands that yield the slice of death — _his_ death — countless times a day.

When he blinks, he's lying down on his bed, Mark sitting by a chair to the side. When he motions to get up, his body is too heavy, one of Mark's hands stretched out and pressing down at his chest. It’s as if the ghost of his primordial name can still be seen haunting his mouth.

"Thanatos," he says in response, if only to speak it out loud and taste it. Thanatos, _death_ ; Zagreus, _great hunter_. And for that matter — Jeno, _king_ ; Mark, _warlike_. He supposes they always find each other somehow. “Thanatos, I—”

"You should rest," Mark ignores him. "I do not bear my brother’s powers, but I will make sure no one disturbs your slumber."

By all means, he does not leave his chair as he finishes saying it, so Jeno supposes he won't do it at all. And so Jeno rolls on his side, finds a more comfortable position for himself as he stares at the deity staring at him — no, Mark is not Jaemin, but his very presence is always so calming to Jeno, it's almost as if he could really aid his sleep like his brother does.

"I heard there is no rest for the wicked, though," Jeno mutters, which earns him a raised eyebrow. "The shades, they have many idioms. I pay attention."

"You pay too much attention to those silly things," Mark responds. He kisses the tip of his fingers and presses them to Jeno's hurt shoulder — the aching subsides as if it had never existed at all. What is the gentle kiss of Death if not a way to ease the pains of existence, for one last time? And Jeno wonders, just for a second, what would happen if… "The shades only speak nonsense."

Jeno thinks most of them are funny, but he understands why Mark isn't fond of them. Why would he be? His business is with the living. Once the souls arrive at the Underworld, it is not his job to look after them.

"Maybe so," he whispers, closing his eyes. Mark's hand brushes against his cheek for a second, on accident, and then cups his face on purpose, thumb brushing right over the spot where a wretched soul smashed a flail against. "Or maybe we are the ones speaking nonsense, no?"

Mark hums. He leans in to press a kiss to the top of his head, but this one is stripped of any healing property he’s aware of. Who knows. "Sleep, Jeno. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

_ii._

The waters of the Lethe run milky white, almost silvery if you are lucky to catch the light reflecting onto the streams — of course, there is no real Sun in Elysium. It is but a mere illusion of it.

Jeno has yet to meet the Sun and feel its warmth on his skin. He bets it is much different than the overwhelming heat of Asphodel, courtesy of the river Phlegethon having overflowed. No, the Sun must not hurt — the Sun makes the skin of mortals turn to gold, and the flowers follow him wherever he goes. The Sun is life, and therefore it has no business down here, Jeno remarks as he plucks a blue flower from the grass and starts pulling each petal one by one. One day he shall finally meet the Sun.

"Brooding again, I see," remarks a voice behind him. He looks over his shoulder, only to find Mark leaning against his scythe. His dark figure contrasts against the bright, neon-like colors of Elysium. "You're not having second thoughts about your escape attempts, are you?"

"And if I am?" Jeno asks, though offering him a shy smile. It is not always that he finds him here — it is not always that he finds Mark at all. It’s a crime that he is not around Jeno most of the time. “Would you not be happy if I stayed, dear?”

With one swift motion, the blade of Death's scythe brushes the ground briefly before disappearing completely, and as Mark sits down by his side, loose flowers float around them for a moment before falling onto the Lethe. Jeno would be amused were he to watch the blue petals running down the river, but he is rather interested in the figure by his side.

"Then that would not be you, I believe," Mark muses. "Are you not the most stubborn creature one could find in Tartarus?"

"No, I believe that would be my father," Jeno remarks with a laugh. He doesn't miss the way one of the corners of Mark's mouth tugs upwards slightly, but the latter looks away before Jeno can watch him smile.

"Fair enough. But why the long face? Are you not almost up there?"

Jeno lets out a hum as he brings his knees to his chest to rest his arms on them. "I just wonder… If I truly were to live among the Olympians, would I not be— would I not to be too different? Would they not look at me and see something that is not supposed to be up there?"

When Mark doesn't immediately respond, he adds: "Perhaps I could just stay here with you."

At that, Mark speaks up: "You do not belong in Elysium, and neither do I, for that matter. How many souls have you slayed to sit here right now, with that shield of yours?"

Jeno lets out an embarrassed laugh, suddenly aware of the shield resting by his other side. Were the Shield of Chaos not one of his most powerful weapons, he's sure that Aegis would scare away foes with its design alone.

"But— Mark adds. "I suppose that just because something does not belong somewhere, it doesn't mean some one cannot enjoy it while it lasts."

With a snap of his fingers, a weaved basket materializes in front of them. Jeno does not realize how hungry he is until his gaze falls upon all the honey cakes, ripe peaches and bottles of cherry wine.

"Oh, Thanatos, you like me so much!" Jeno says teasingly as he grabs one of the fruits. "You are seriously so fond of me these days."

Mark shrugs as he uncaps a bottle. "Some things cannot be helped, I fear." He takes a long sip, licking the blood red liquid from his lips. Jeno forces himself to look away. "But if you tell anyone of this—"

Jeno raises a hand up in the air dramatically. "May the Styx forbid that anyone knows Death has a heart!"

He doesn't know if Mark really has one, but Jeno bets that he does. If he didn't, he wouldn't do any of this. Pleased with his discovery, Jeno bites down onto a peach, sighing happily as the juice drips down his chin. Renjun has told him once that he eats like a dog would, and his father has remarked countless times that Cerberus would have better manners than him, but Jeno doesn't mind — he licks his fingers clean, takes larges sips of wine, inspects the basket in search of the nearest treat he can shove inside his mouth.

"Do they not feed you back at the House?" Mark comments snarkily. He'd been nipping on a honey cake, taking turns between eating and watching Jeno doing so.

"I do not have time to eat, I have to leave this place," Jeno replies matter-of-factly. "Oh, but does Dusa make a mean stew if I can convince her to."

Mark raises his eyebrows. He is fairly uninterested in the gorgon, deems her a little annoying, that Jeno knows. "Is that so," he hums. "How generous of her."

Jeno laughs at his demeanor. He feasts on other fruits and some bread, and wonders just how many other delicacies he'll find once on the surface. It would be a pretty good reason to keep on trying, he's not going to lie.

With a gasp, Jeno feels the small pouch tied to his waist for a moment before realizing that he hasn't, in fact, lost the small vessel he had hidden inside it. Mark watches in silence as he fumbles with the cord shutting it closed, but when Jeno offers him the small bottle, he asks: "For me?"

Jeno nods, dropping the vessel onto his outstretched palm. "I've been saving it for you since the last time I met up with Theseus and Minotaur."

Thumbing at the purple bow around the bottle's neck, Mark turns to him. "You sure you want to give ambrosia to me? You could trade this for something valuable back at the House of Hades. Some gemstones, no?"

"No, I'd rather you have it."

"Why, thank you, then," Mark uncaps the bottle, bringing it to his nose so he can smell the content, and then takes a small sip of it. His expression softens, skin glowing a faint gold for a second before he puts the gift away. "No wonder they call this the food of the gods."

Jeno smiles. He has never tasted ambrosia himself — it is rather difficult to find it down here —, but he's glad that Mark is enjoying his treat. He hopes it'll give him strength for all the travels he must do between this realm and the human world.

With a sigh, Jeno lowers his back to the ground, arms crossed behind his head. He's well fed and with great company — not a bad day after all. And he doesn't expect Mark to lie down beside him, but he does, on his side rather than on his back, head propped up on a hand.

"Are you satisfied?" he asks. Jeno nods, and as Mark snaps his fingers once more, the basket of goods disappears.

Jeno gasps: "Wait! I haven't had any of the honey cakes. Oh, they were looking so good."

Mark stays silent for a moment, and with a flourish of his hand, he's suddenly holding the delicacy. He reaches out, but Mark bats his hand away, and watches with curiosity as the god of Death parts the cake in two and leans in to feed him.

The cake is sweet like the best nectar and just the right amount of moist, tiny bits of almond for a little crunch, and Jeno tries not to think much about Mark's fingers brushing against his lips, but it's hard not to. He watches, dumbfounded, as Mark eats the last bit, but this time he even reaches out to swipe his thumb under Jeno's lip to prevent the honey from dripping down his chin, gently prodding it inside his mouth.

If anyone asks, the Prince of Hell did not lick his fingers clean in a spur of either courage or stupidity — if anything Mark silently asked for it, so he's to blame for it. He doesn't say anything at all, just lets Jeno lap at the digits for a moment before he retrieves the hand.

"You're one of a kind, aren't you, hellspawn?”

Jeno nods as he closes his eyes, quite pleased with himself. "I'd like to think so, yes. But only for you, my dear Thanatos."

Scoffing, Mark sits up, but not before he brushes the hair off Jeno's face. He's got many reasons to believe that Mark thinks so, too.

_iii._

"Let's make a bet," Mark tells him. "I'll race you all the way to the staircase behind the Lernaean Hydra, and if you slay more enemies than me, I shall give you a gift unlike any other you've received."

"A kiss?" Jeno suggests with a cheeky grin as he pulls Stygius from its sheath. It is not always that he goes out there with it, but it is the first blade Jeno has ever learned how to use — he's emotionally attached to it. And when Mark doesn't reply, he asks: "What happens if you win?"

Mark brandishes his scythe; it stops a few millimetres away from the delicate skin of Jeno's throat. "Then I'll take you home. I don't believe you truly think you'd get out of this alive if I do win."

He's teasing, of course — Jeno will be forever more likely to die by the hands (or claws) or foes than by Mark's blade. He smiles cheerily. "When should we start?"

The god of Death doesn’t dignify him with a response, he vanishes in thin air with a mischievous grin on his lips, and Jeno lets out a big sigh as he rushes to the boat to the next isle in Asphodel.

At this point, he has grown used to slaying these foes — Jeno barely registers it as he runs past them, brandishing Stygius like a madman. It’s not about winning the bet per se, but the thrill of it, to know somewhere out there Mark is thinking of him. All the monsters and wretched souls of Asphodel wouldn’t stop Jeno from reuniting with him if they tried.

By the time he reaches the Lernaean Hydra, Jeno is only slightly out of breath, and he’s humming a thank you to the goddess of Wisdom for the blessings he’s received. The Hydra raises her enormous head at the sight of him, tilting it to the side as if she’s asking just how many times he’ll be bothering her, and Jeno wipes the sweat off his forehead as he says: “Trust me, Lernie, I’m not happy to see you either.”

Personally, out of the monsters that guard the gates to every sublevel in the Underworld — Tartarus, Asphodel, Elysium and the Temple of Styx —, he dislikes the Hydra the most. It’s always a pain to defeat her and there is only so much biting he can take before it gets annoying. When the third head knocks him to the side, he considers calling for Zeus’ aid just to get this done with, even though he knows the monster is getting tired already.

He just has to hold on a little longer. It’s always just a matter of holding on a little longer — Jeno has been pushing himself through things just like this all his life. Hold on a little longer, be a little stronger, it’ll be over in a minute, you’ll see. He takes a deep breath and gets up.

When the third head blows up, Stygius flies right out of his hand with the impact. Cursing, Jeno runs after it quickly, trying not to step on the pools of lava that have emerged on the ground. He does this all day, every day? He can’t quite believe it.

He reaches out for the blade, but the Hydra bangs her primary head against the ground and it shakes violently, and Jeno watches, completely dumbfounded, as Stygius falls into the Phlegethon and disappears out of his sight. How great. He turns to the Hydra and steps out of the way just in time before she knocks him to the ground.

Looks like it’s the good old Greek style now. Jeno runs and punches the monster right in the middle of her nasal plate, and she looks very confused for a second before she tries to bite him. He has never tried to defeat her without a weapon before, so Jeno says a quick prayer for Athena and hopes that the goddess will enlighten him in this moment.

But Tartarus is so deep beneath the ground, sometimes the Olympians won’t hear him at all. Jeno is tired, and bleeding, and the Hydra is just being mean to him now, knocking him to the ground every time he gets up and trying to smash him like a bug.

He wonders how Mark is doing — Mark is an excellent warrior, though he does not fight often. The Lernaean Hydra must have been nothing to him. Jeno sighs, he wishes he could see—

“Wow, wow, hey!” he exclaims as his robe gets stuck in one the Hydra’s long fangs. Jeno tries to tear the clothing apart, to no avail — Ten, the night personified, had weaved this toga for him herself, it shall never tear. For the first time in his life, Jeno is a little irritated with Nyx. “Lernie, come on, I’m stuck, this is not fair—”

Of course, the Hydra does not hear him. Her jaws close pretty close to Jeno’s arm, and then she throws her head back full force. He’s but a ragdoll, flying straight to the rock wall behind the monster and hitting it full force.

How great. If he didn’t break a rib hitting the wall, he surely does so once he falls to the ground. Jeno can’t bring himself to get up. He closes his eyes with a sigh.

When Jeno wakes up, he’s being pulled out of the Styx — no, not pulled out. _Carried_. He does not realize what is going on until Jaemin’s high pitched screams reach his ears, and he so very uselessly tries to cover them with his hands.

“Mother Almighty!” Jaemin exclaims. His face is so close to Jeno’s that he winces, but then the god of Sleep is pushed away by something else. “Brother, what do you think you’re doing? I didn’t know you handled deliveries personally. Has the Lernaean Hydra gone too harsh on our prince? It's been quite long since the last time it happened.”

“Give him some space, Jaemin,” Mark demands, and Jeno looks up at him like he has never seen such thing in his life.

And he hasn’t, of course. When has Thanatos ever held him like this? Why, only in his dreams. Jaemin lets out a giggle as he floats around them.

“Oh, prince, and wouldn’t I know about that!” he says. “See, brother, he likes you so much.”

He realizes, in horror, that they have indeed heard him. Embarrassed, Jeno buries his face on Mark’s chest, cheek squished against the cold metal of his pauldron, and only looks up when Mark is lowering him to the recliner in his room.

“I could’ve walked here,” he remarks, sitting up. While he’s very messy himself, Mark’s clothes are only stained with drying blood where Jeno has touched it. The god of Death is always ever so pristine, his skin unblemished where Jeno’s arms are covered in red. _Again_. “Thanatos, why would you—”

“It is my fault that you died, and I’m sorry,” Mark says. He gently takes off Jeno's golden laurel wreath off his hair and places it on the recliner, then starts working on Jeno's clothes, taking off the pauldron and unbuckling his belt, throwing both to the floor carelessly. “You got tired quickly because of the bet. It was foolish of me to even suggest it.”

“Hey, it’s _fine_ ,” Jeno tries to at least keep the toga on, but Mark is definitely insistent as he unwraps all that clothing. He crosses his arms, suddenly embarrassed. “I’ve died a thousand times, you know that."

Mark looks— he looks quite sad, to be honest. Jeno doesn’t think he’s ever seen him like this. He rarely ever shows his true emotions. But now, he looks rather gloomy. Jeno does not recognize him like this, and he wishes Mark would never look like this again.

“I am sorry, my prince,” Mark repeats as he cajoles Jeno into getting up. He only does so because the sooner Mark stops feeling sorry for him, the happier Jeno will be. “I just wanted you to have some fun.”

“And I had fun, so thank you for it,” Jeno tells him. He finishes kicking off his pants and almost gets inside the pool, but decides against it at the last minute, and turns around to try and unbuckle Mark's pauldron. The latter looks at him like he's gone mad, but when the armor falls to their feet and he moves to push the hood off the top of Mark's head, he lets him. “Come on, have a bath with me.”

Though scowling, Mark agrees, but he unbuckles his belt himself rather than let Jeno do it. They have bathed together countless times before, but always outside, in branches of the Lethe where the mortal memories are so many that the water runs entirely silver, but never in private chambers. Jeno’s a little shy himself, but he’ll never admit it. It’s a good thing that the pool in his room is big enough for the two of them.

Once inside, Mark reaches for a small cabinet beside the pool and grabs all of Jeno’s favorite fragrance oils, pouring them onto the water. He then grabs a sponge and motions for Jeno to get closer, but he speaks up: “Mark, seriously. I have literally died a thousand times. I don’t even feel it anymore. You don’t have to feel bad for me.”

Mark rolls his eyes as he swims closer to Jeno himself. The latter, unable to move, stays still as he starts to rub the blood off his face. This close he notices, then, the blood smeared on Mark’s own cheek, as if he had perhaps leaned his face against Jeno’s head as he carried him— no, that must not be it. Jeno closes his eyes with the excuse of not getting soap on them.

“I do, though.”

He opens his eyes again. Mark gently brushes his thumbs under them before he gathers some water with his cupped hands and pours it over Jeno’s head, to get the blood off his hair. “What?” the Prince of Hell asks. “Feel bad for me? Since when?”

“I feel it when you die, and believe me, my prince, it destroys me,” Death confides. He looks quite embarrassed because of it — what is going on with Thanatos today? Maybe he has done something he thinks will anger Jeno, and now he’s trying to make up for it. How foolish of him. Nothing he can do could ever anger him. “I am not sure why this keeps happening.”

He shakes his head negatively, voice dying out, and tries to make Jeno submerge entirely for a moment, but the latter holds onto the edge of the pool.

“Tell me,” he asks, pleads even.

Mark rolls his eyes. “You’ll think of me as a fool.”

“I would _never_ ,” Jeno laughs. He’s so silly, who would’ve thought? He’s known Mark his entire life, and he has never seen him like this. He grabs some water in his hand and reaches out to clean Mark’s face, as he doesn’t seem to have noticed the blood.

“I think—” Mark leans into his touch, eyes closed. Maybe he is sick; do gods ever get sick? Or maybe he is getting promoted to another part of the Underworld and now Jeno will see him even less than he normally does, and he’s feeling bad about it. “I think we are Fated.”

A beat of silence. “ _Oh_.”

“Do not “ _oh_ ” me, Zagreus,” Mark says immediately as he opens his eyes, and he goes back to washing Jeno’s hair as if this moment has never happened. But Jeno will not let go of it. Not even if it kills him. He swims closer, until their breaths mingle, and asks:

“Thanatos, are we in love?”

He stays silent for an awfully long moment, watching him with those big eyes of him, dark as the night itself to honor his blood, and then huffs, impatient. “Well, when you put it like that… I _suppose_ that would be it.”

It’s barely a decent response, but it is enough for Jeno. He smiles happily, which obviously Mark deems irritating, because he coaxes him into turning around so that he can wash his back. Once Jeno is significantly less bloody and Mark’s gentle hands on him have turned him into putty, he relaxes in his hold, back resting against Mark’s chest.

He can’t believe he got to do it _twice_ today. Jeno can’t _wait_ to die again. He plans on telling Mark such, but it reminds him of something else.

“What was the bet’s reward?” he asks, turning around slightly to look at him. Mark seems confused for a second before he remembers, one of his hands coming up to cup Jeno’s face.

“It was…” he brushes a thumb against Jeno’s cheekbone. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to show you.”

Jeno waits for a kiss. And waits, and waits, and waits, but Mark just continues to look at him. He’s rather disappointed. “Oh, were you expecting it now?” Mark chuckles. “That won’t do. It’s not… It’s not something I can just give you. I’ll take you there. No bets, free of charge.”

“Fine with me,” Jeno responds as he leans closer. His nose brushes against Mark’s cheek, and as the latter remains unmoved, he presses a single kiss to his cheek.

_iv._

It is a long way up to Elysium, but for the first time in his life, the Prince of Hell does not travel by foot, nor does he use his weapon once.

He's heard of shadow travel before, but it would be a blow to Jeno's self esteem were he to accept offers from beings who can do it — he's supposed to get to the surface on his own, after all. His father would surely tease him for getting shortcuts, and Jeno has given him enough reasons to make snarky remarks about his escape attempts every time he walks past his desk.

In fact, when he lets go of Mark's hand and steps onto the soft grass of Elysium, he can almost hear his father's voice. _You may have fooled another god into helping you, Jeno, but one way or another, you'll find your way back home. Perhaps then you can consider cleaning your room._ He rolls his eyes at the thought, but then realizes that he had indeed heard his father's voice, echoing through the Underworld. He sometimes does that.

"He embarrasses me so much, it's his favorite daily activity," he tells Mark, who seems quite amused, the corners of his mouth perking up. "I bet that if he could, he'd choose to list out all my flaws in alphabetical order every day rather than listen to the requests and complaints of arriving souls."

Finally, _finally_ a smile breaks through Mark's lips. "Can you blame him?" he asks teasingly, extending a hand for Jeno to hold. "I heard you still haven't cleaned up the mess that Cerberus made at the lounge."

Jeno rolls his eyes as he squeezes Mark's hand in his. "I'll remind you that taking care of a hellhound isn't as easy as it sounds, especially when this one in particular has three heads. You try it one of these days and tell me what you think."

Naturally, he'd sooner find Mark willingly taking Jaemin's post at the entrance of the House of Hades than looking after Cerberus. It is simply not something Jeno can picture him doing.

Neither of them push the subject forward — Jeno lets Mark guide him through Elysium through paths he's not quite familiar, stopping every once in a while to greet shades he's fond of. Mark doesn't really like demigods, so he doesn't wait for Jeno to wrap his small talk with Herakles and stands by the top of a hill on the distance, beside a big willow tree.

When Jeno catches up to him, carefully storing the piece of parchment paper where he has written down all the tips on defeating monsters that Herakles had shared with him as long as he delivers a personal note to Geryon the next time Jeno runs into him, and he watches as Mark considers him for a moment before turning his back to him. He crouches on the ground and presses his hand to a rock.

Suddenly, a staircase appears, as if it had been hidden by mist. Before Jeno can take a single step towards it, Mark retrieves his hand, and the staircase disappears in thin air.

"This is a shortcut to the surface," Mark explains. "It goes past the Temple of Styx and straight up there, so you don’t need to fight that vermin again. The catch is one cannot use it alone — someone has to stay behind and reveal it."

Jeno extends a hand to where the staircase has been. It's like it has never existed at all. "Why have I never heard of it before?" he muses. "Bet Sisyphus isn't that fond of me, then. I thought he told me all the secrets to this place."

Mark lets out a low chuckle as he sits under the willow tree, putting his scythe to the ground. "What makes you think Sisyphus knows of this? It took me eons to find this place."

"Sisyphus knows a lot of things, mind you, we always have great conversation when I meet him!" Jeno insists. He, too, sits down, leaning his hand on Mark's neck. "Now, why did you— tell me, are you helping me out of this place? I thought you didn't want me to leave."

Mark grabs a hold of his hand and brings it to his lips — Jeno can't say he doesn't blush as his knuckles get kissed, one by one. "Whether I would or not hate to see you leave won't exactly stop you, I fear."

Jeno takes a deep breath. "No," he replies at last, and reaches out with a hand to touch Mark's jaw when he looks away, turning his chin towards Jeno again. "No, I'm sorry, I have to— I _have_ to go. You know that."

"I know, which is why I'll help you. But I’ll ask you, my prince, for only one thing, and then I shall never ask for anything else.”

“That’s… A little bit too dramatic, no?” Jeno muses, and Mark rolls his eyes. Laughing, he brushes his thumb against Mark's cheekbone. “What is it?”

Much like that day back in his room, Mark leans into his touch, his eyes closing. “Don’t go today. You’ve waited so long… What difference does a day make?”

_None at all._

"My dear Thanatos," Jeno whispers. He doesn't really have anything to say — he just wanted to say his name, like a prayer for which no other words exist. He’s heard that the gods up there at Olympus receive prayers all the time, and not only that; prayers, offerings, the mortals build temples for them. Neither of them have ever received a prayer, but Jeno doesn’t mind starting now.

The grass is soft under him when Mark pushes him down, raising himself on his arms above him, but that won’t do. Jeno pushes him to the side and straddles his waist in no time, and laughs when Mark widens his eyes, surprised. “Warrior’s skills,” he reminds him.

“And I bet you’ve slain countless foes like this,” Mark teases as he runs his hands up Jeno’s thighs. “Haven’t you, love?”

He lowers himself, hands on both sides of Mark’s head. “Not like this, no,” Jeno mutters. “This I’ve been saving for you only.”

Mark lets out a pleased hum, the sound yet another thing of his that Jeno had yet to meet. Why does the world feel so much different now that he knows his Thanatos loves him? As the tip of Jeno's nose brushes against his cheek and Mark seeks his mouth, he can only think that the latter thinks so as well. He pushes his fingers in Mark's hair, cradles his head and presses their lips together, finally.

When they were children, Nyx would sit all three of them on the patio so they’d watch Achilles sparring in his free time. Ten had never been a great storyteller, but she’d cradle Jaemin in their arms and tickle him all over, and she’d say: _when Achilles was born, his mother, Thetis, dipped his body in the Styx so that he’d become invincible. There wasn’t a single soul, man, monster of divine, that could bring him down because of that blessing. Every inch of his body hard like Stygian steel, he was the greatest of the Greeks._ But Ten would also drum her long fingers against the ground, _tap tap tap tap,_ as if considering whether to continue the story or not, and the three of them would naturally wander closer to her, eager to hear. _Even the greatest of the Greeks had a weakness,_ she’d say, and this is the part where Ten would then reach out and try to tickle Jeno’s feet, and he would roll away from her, laughing. _But did you know?_ _Thetis had held onto one of his heels as to not let the river take Achilles away from her, and so that became the only vulnerable spot on his body. She sworn that no one would find out, but—_

(“ _Achilles died_ ,” Mark recalled. “ _Because_ _Paris’ arrow struck him on his heel._ ”

“ _He died because Paris’ arrow struck him on his heel, yes,_ ” Ten reached out and ran her fingers through his white hair. “ _My smart boy, you know so much, don’t you?_ ”)

He feels like this: as if his skin, like that of Achilles, has turned to Stygian steel, like no other force in this plane of existence could take him out. Were the world to end, Jeno wouldn't know a thing. He feels as if he had drank from the Lethe and forgotten all things but the taste of Mark's mouth, sweet and addictive like the finest bottle of cherry wine.

And so inebriating, too. He loses his senses, he loses his screams, and he doesn’t mind it, not with how it feels to lay here, pressed together in the land of all heroes and other blessed souls — they don’t belong, but right now no one would be able to tell they don’t. Jeno holds onto that thought for dear life, and Mark holds onto him for dear life, hands wrapped around his waist, mouth hot against his jaw, his neck, the curve of his shoulder. A kiss of Death everywhere that can be touched, yet he has never felt more _alive_.

"What are you thinking?" Mark asks later on, his chin resting on Jeno’s chest. It never gets dark in Elysium and they have yet to get up from the ground — Jeno supposes they’ve been here for a while. He wouldn’t know. Jeno could be here for eons more.

He brushes the hair off Mark’s face — his hair has always been like this, white like the color of the Lethe, much like Jaemin’s, except that the latter’s curls a little more, and is always ruffled by him pushing up his sleeping mask up the top of his head. Mark’s hair is straight and neatly cut, never out of place even though he keeps his hood on most of the time, and so Jeno revels in messing it up a little bit, feeling the silky strands between his fingers.

“Nothing in particular,” he replies at last. The tip of his finger brushes along the slope of Mark’s nose; he’s still flushed all over, the kind of glow Jeno has never thought he’d see. "“It’s just… I don’t know. Do you remember when Nyx would tell us stories? About the heroes?”

When Mark hums, Jeno can feel it on his own chest. “I must admit I do not miss my mother’s attempts at storytelling. She’d always have a preference for those silly mortals, which I don’t exactly approve of. Jaemin likes them, too — I suppose it runs on his blood.”

“And it doesn’t run on yours?” Jeno asks, chuckling.

Mark rolls his eyes. Of course, they don’t mean it literally — Mark and Jaemin were born from darkness, much like Ten herself thousands and thousands eons before. Jeno supposes it must be nice to have a parental figure that looks out for you; the same blood that runs on Jeno’s veins also runs on his father’s, and that doesn’t mean anything for any of them.

“Definitely not,” Mark replies. The tip of Jeno’s fingers brush over his eyebrows and he closes his eyes, eyelashes tickling Jeno’s skin. “I have no regard for the living. My business is with the dead. Why do you ask, though?”

He ponders whether or not he should say it, but Jeno mutters at last: “There are many myths and legends on the surface. So many adventures, Mark. I wonder what’s in store for me.”

Mark turns his face, rests his cheek on Jeno’s collarbone. His hair tickles him on the face. “Great things, you’ll see,” he replies softly. “Only great things for you.”

_v._

“Have you checked to see if you’re not forgetting anything?”

Jeno lets out a soft laugh as he tucks Achilles’ codex inside his pouch, tying it carefully around his waist. “No need to fuss over me, Nyx,” he says. “I’ll be just fine. I’ve done this countless times.”

“That I am well aware of,” Ten muses as she paces around the room, arms crossed over her chest. “Child, I’m going to miss seeing you pull at your father’s pigtails. What am I to do without you around? Bother him myself? I’m tired of that already. There isn’t anything else I could say to Doyoung that would anger him, sadly.”

“I’m sure you’ll find ways to entertain yourself,” he replies, though his heart hurts a little bit too much. Nyx has always looked out for him, as if he was her own. She’d weave new clothes for him, she’d feed him bits of ambrosia before dinner, she’d take him on long walks along the Cocytus, she’d protect him in each of his escape attempts. Jeno, too, will miss her deeply. “I just hope that me leaving won’t affect your relationship even further.”

Ten waves it off dismissively, turning to him with a sharp smile. “Don’t you worry about us, child. Your father and I have business since before you even existed — we can handle ourselves just fine.”

He nods. Jeno has long ago stopped trying to pry in the lives of other chthonic gods because of just how many times he’s been scolded for it, but he can’t help but wonder sometimes. His father and Ten are beings as old as Time, and have known each other for just so long — Nyx is the only one around here that can put Hades on his place. Jeno can’t say that he doesn’t admire her for it.

“Now, tell me,” Ten adds. “When you are up there at Olympus, will you remember me?”

Jeno gasps: “ _Of course_. How could I not?”

“And Jaemin, too? Oh, I’m sure even Renjun will end up finding it in himself to miss you.” Ten laughs quite sadly as she sits down by the recliner. Jeno crosses the room to sit by her feet, like he would do as a child. Her hand immediately comes up to brush the hair off his face and fix his laurel wreath. “You bring so much life to the House, my dear, as ironic as it sounds. Not to mention, well— I’m sure you already know just how much Mark treasures you.”

He blushes. “Well, _yes_ ,” he replies quietly. “And I treasure _all_ of you. No exceptions. I—” Jeno shakes his head. “Perhaps it is too late to say this, but all this time I was talking about how there’s a family up there waiting for me, I feel like— I feel like I didn’t appreciate the one I have here. Not enough. Will you forgive me for being such an ingrate?”

Ten rubs a thumb over his cheek, laughing. “Child, you don’t have to feel sorry for anything. Anyone who knows you can see that you’re far from ungrateful. Now, up, up, you go!” She gets up, offering a hand to him. “It’s a long run to the surface, isn’t it? You better get started.”

Jeno nods as he’s pulled from the ground, and then scratches his cheek a little awkwardly. “About that… Well, I—”

“He’s found a ride,” says a voice from the entrance to the room. He turns around, and finds Mark waiting at the door, scythe in one hand and in the other, a leather pouch. He shakes it, the sound of coins rattling echoing in the room. “I made a deal with Charon. We better get going, he won’t be waiting for long.”

“You did?!” Jeno exclaims. “That’s not fair. He won’t even talk to me, and I’ve asked him for a ride countless times!”

Mark shrugs, completely unfazed, and Jeno lets out a huff in frustration. Laughing, Ten cups his face between her hands and lands a kiss on the top of his head.

“Godspeed, child. Send the Olympians my regards, will you? But if they don’t take good care of you—” she makes a cut-throat motion with her hand. “Isn’t that right, Mark?”

Mark scoffs as he crosses the room to the door that leads to the patio. “Mother, _please_ , you embarrass me. Jeno, come on, it’s time.”

He nods, and quickly gives Ten a tight hug before rushing after him. They walk down the corridor in silence — Jeno had bid his goodbyes earlier, even to his father. He didn’t really acknowledge him, just hummed under his breath as he signed off another hellish contract, and Jeno then pretended he was talking to Cerberus all long. Jaemin was positively asleep when he tried talking to him, but it’s alright — Jeno is sure they’ll meet again in his dreams. As for Renjun, well, he flipped him off when Jeno found him at the lounge, but that’s given.

He… Doesn’t really know how to say goodbye to Mark. He’ll have time for it, of course, as it truly is a long ride to Elysium, but Jeno feels as if all the time in the world wouldn’t be enough. It’s a good thing that Charon is not one bit talkative when they board the boat, so that Jeno can look at Mark a little longer.

“What is it?” he asks once he catches him looking. “Having second thoughts this soon?”

“I’m just looking at you, for you’re so beautiful,” Jeno replies. “You’re used to that already, aren’t you? Me, watching you?”

Mark mutters something under his breath, probably complaining about Jeno’s boldness when in the presence of other beings, but what will Charon do? Snitch on their secrets? He doesn’t talk! Jeno scoots closer to Mark, keeping their knees pressed together though the latter purposely looks away, and resorts to watching the phantasmagoric hands coming out of the Styx to try and grab a hold of them.

The ride doesn’t last as long as he would’ve wished. He’s so close to the surface, yet Jeno finds himself dreading the moment he’ll walk up Mark’s hidden staircase. They walk in silence through Elysium, not bothered by any shade or foe, and Jeno tries really hard to engrave that scenery on his mind as he wraps his hand around Mark’s. It isn’t until they’re up that certain hill that he speaks up;

“I need some favours from you,” and Mark immediately rolls his eyes. Jeno tugs at their joined hands. “Oh, come on. Just a couple tiny little favors, for me?”

“I have too much work already, Jeno.”

“It’s nothing that difficult!” he pouts. “I just need you to check on Patroclus every once in a while, maybe deliver some messages between him and Achilles. I was the one to do that.”

Mark presses his lips into a thin line, and then nods. “What else?”

“Do not let father fire Jaemin again. He’s not slacking, he just needs a little push to stay awake. And remember that, despite what everyone else thinks, Cerberus _is_ allergic to drakon meat and it makes his stomach hurt—”

“I think the dog will be fine,” Mark tells him. He lets go of Jeno’s hand and enchants the scythe away only so that he can rest both on his shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “Now, about Cerberus…”

Jeno lets out a laugh, shaking head. “You’re so silly,” he says and, in a spur of courage, leans in to wrap his arms around Mark’s torso in a hug, cheek resting against the shoulder that’s not covered by the pauldron. “You’ll visit me up there, won’t you, my dear?”

“I’m always very busy when I’m among the mortals,” Mark replies, though noticeably halfheartedly. His fingers slide through the back of Jeno’s hair, certainly messing up his laurel wreath, but why would he even care? He’s in his Thanatos’ arms right now. “But I could make an exception, I suppose. But you know I hate how bright it is up there.”

“I’ll wait for you in the shade,” he promises. Mark’s body shakes with laughter and Jeno holds him through it. “You wouldn’t have to stay for long, you know? Just one glimpse of you and I would be satisfied.”

It’s a lie, of course. Jeno can never get enough of him. But if Mark sees right through him, as he always does, he doesn’t comment as he leans back, both of his hands cupping Jeno’s face. “I, um...” Mark licks his lips. “I have a gift for you. Stay put.”

He does so. Mark fumbles with the front of his toga, and it’s only then that Jeno realizes he’s attaching something to it; a brooch, from the looks of it. When Mark is done, Jeno carefully tilts the gift up so he can take a better look — it’s a small butterfly, with wings of amethyst.

“It’ll keep you safe,” Mark explains. “Well, it’s not really— it’s not really enchanted, but I like to believe it will. Or, at least, it’ll make you think of me.”

“I don’t need keepsakes to think of you,” Jeno replies teasingly. Mark pinches him on the arm for it, but Jeno doesn’t mind; he leans in, presses his lips to Mark’s. “I’m sorry for not having anything to give you — I didn’t know you were so keen on exchanging gifts.”

“Be quiet,” Mark demands, and kisses him a little bit more. If only they could stay right here in this moment forever, Jeno wishes. But other things await, other adventures. When he leans back, Mark caresses his cheek. “It’s time, Zagreus. Don’t let the Sun burn your skin too much.”

“It can do that?!” Jeno exclaims. “And you’ve waited this long to tell me? Way to go, Thanatos.”

Mark is laughing as he steps away. He kneels near the same rock from that one time, and presses his palm to it. Instantly, the staircase materializes in front of them. Jeno looks up at it in wonder, having suddenly forgotten about his discovery.

He takes the first few steps, but turns around. Crouching to the ground, he holds Mark’s face in his hands and kisses him once more. “I’ll see you on the other side, my dear,” he says. “Don’t wait too long to visit me, or I’ll be very sad.”

Mark nods, smiling softly. “Godspeed, my love. Walk in the shade.”

This time, when Jeno goes up, he doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

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